Musical Progress---Thank You Jamaica

I've been waiting patiently for a musical resurgence. In earlier posts, I talked about "all the obstacles in my way" and it's no coincidence that I'm channeling lyrics from a classic reggae tune here since I just got back from Jamaica, which is where the resurgence occurred.
How did it start? I think it was on the beach when a trickle of lyrics and the nucleus of a song idea popped into my brain. Before long, an exciting new song was taking shape. "Seize the Day" is the title. It's a tune that's long on adult inspiration and positive values, just the sort of topic that swirls around my subconscious a lot these days as I come to terms with the notion of embracing my new age group. Most of my favorite songs include universal messages. "Seize the Day" is all about the universal. And it's built around a soulful guitar passage which kicks off the tune and repeats at the end of each refrain. I like songs that do that too.
Is that all I needed for my resurgence? Nope. I needed more, and I got it. Several performance opportunities came my way, and in the process, many new friendships were formed and a slew of perfect strangers embraced my musical with genuine enthusiasm. Three nights in Jamaica I held center stage and all three nights were magical and memorable.
Then, just a day before we needed to head home, another song popped into my head. And unlike typical song ideas which rarely result in a fully formed song, and when they do, it usually takes weeks or months for the song to evolve into a finished piece, this song was that rare kind which was essentially complete in twenty minutes. In my experience, the songs that come quickly are often the best.
Suddenly, I am committed to recording a new set of songs in 2010. I was slow to realize that there would be a beautiful rhythm to this since my first cd was released in 2004 and my second in 2007. That would make me one of those folks who puts out a new collection of songs once every three years. That notion holds a lot of appeal for me. And suddenly, it seems eminently do-able.
It's as if my patience with music, and my frustrations over the fact that the role of music has recently retreated from my life somewhat, has suddenly been answered in the best way possible. For that, and for many other reasons, I am wishing myself right now, and all of you too, the best of season's greetings and a Happy Happy Happy New Year---may 2010 rock for all of us!

It Was Neither the Best Nor Worst of Times

Charles Dickens wrote it 150 years ago. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It must have seemed true when he said it, just as it has often seemed true throughout the course of our lives. Why? The answer must relate to the glass half empty/half full conundrum. Which isn't really so much a conundrum as it is a metaphor about the power of perspective.
In any given moment, we see terrible possibilities for mankind and with good reason. These "glass half empty" thoughts lend powerful support to the notion that it is truly the worst of times. But then something inevitably happens to reinforce the opposite point of view. Whenever I hear Louis Armstrong's "It's A Wonderful World", for example, or "Imagine", my mental state transforms. Instantly, I am full of hope, a veritable fountain of good will. Welcome to the best of times.
Perhaps it is because we only experience life in the present. There is a drama queen within us all, and the average inner drama queen wants to make you think about the worst and best of all possibilities all the time. Actually, I think there are two inner drama queens within us, and they engage in a constant battle with one another. The good DQ wants you to think these are damn sure the very very best of times while the bad DQ wants to freak you out with worry.
The other day, my stepson encountered a man carrying a sign which read "THE END IS NEAR!" He asked the man a profound question: "And why does that bother you so much?" Which proves that one man's worst of times can be another's best of times---it's all a matter of perspective.
"A Tale of Two Cities" was released by Charles Dickens in 37 weekly installments in 1859. The final installment was released on November 25, 1859 which is nearly 150 years ago today. According to one source, 200 million copies were sold in English, more than any other book printed in the English language.
The opening line is so memorable and has been repeated with such frequency that many forget the equally good lines which follow.


"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way."

I imagine that during World War II, it must have felt like the worst of times. And when the war ended, it must have felt like the best of times. During the Bush administration, it seemed like the worst of times and yet, I had some of my best life experiences during those eight years. We should accept that it is neither the worst nor best of times at any given moment. That perspective seems, to me, as both a healthy and truthful outlook. It calls upon us to reflect upon history more carefully, always a good thing. It requires us to identify the many positive, helpful things and people we are surrounded by that we often take for granted.
Thank you Mr. Dickens. You continue to enlighten us, long after your departure. Such is the power of words well chosen and ideas well articulated.

Weekly or Monthly?

How much is too much? How little is too little? The frequency of my postings is on a slide. No, a free fall is more like it. I'd like to think that with fewer postings comes increased quality of content. But I know that isn't true.

Here's the deal. My blog retreat can be directly traced to an explosion in the time I'm spending in this all-consuming activity of green development. My approach to this undertaking is definitely hands on. To use poker vernacular, I guess you'd say I'm all in. And the risks are terrifying. If I wasn't so confident that I was doing a good thing for our community and that ultimately, the fruits of my labor will reward me in a reasonable way, I would just say no.

This activity doesn't tolerate a half hearted approach. To overlook key details is to invite failure. I feel that I've worked too long and too hard to expose myself to a negative outcome in this new endeavor.

My commitment to overseeing my building projects, both from the standpoint of time and risk, is too large to allow time for other things I'd like to do. As a result, I'm performing less, blogging less, traveling less, running less, and the list goes on. But I'm willing to make these sacrifices because what I'm doing, for the most part, seems worth it. I sure don't enjoy explaining this to folks who ask when my next gig is. Still, I'm touched by the number of inquiries I've received.

To them and to you, now hear this: soon my projects will be done. And when they are completed, I plan to resist any urge I may feel to do more. That's when I'll resume my favorite activities like performing, writing new songs, record, travel and tour, and who knows what else. In the meantime, I appreciate your indulgence as this blog shifts into a once-a-month sort of affair.

Blog Sabbatical Ends--Read All About It

It's over. My blog sabbatical, that is. I'm not sure who that Mica guy in the picture is, but the "He's Back" sign says it all. My apologies, dear readers, for failing to announce my sabbatical in advance. I've long admired college professors for their ability to take sabbaticals. I decided to indulge myself. Or maybe I just got lazy or too busy with other stuff or found myself running out of topics worthy of your time and attention. Whatever the case, I'm draping my MIA period with a cloak of respectability by calling it a blog sabbatical. If my absence has let anyone down, hopefully this distinguished sounding excuse will make amends. I apologize. There, I said it.

Theoretically, sabbaticals allow one time to conduct research, make progress on new projects while unencumbered by the routine demands of employment and emerge from this period refreshed and reinvigorated. My sabbatical experience fell somewhat short of accomplishing these lofty ideals, but there were some good times. I literally climbed a mountaintop, a near vertical granite spire in the Canadian Rockies, to be precise. Yup, the one in the picture. I played music, entertaining folks from far and wide. But mostly, I toiled in fulfillment of my daily responsibilities back home in Eugene.

Am I refreshed? Uh, not really. But I stand prepared to make this commitment to you (not a promise, just a soft, fluffy "commitment", and a rather feeble one at that). My commitment is this: once again, I will provide blog content on a semi-regular basis starting now. Yes, you can read it all here, well-crafted prose drenched with meaningful literary content, rich with irony and sarcasm, self-aggrandizing blather about our life (ok, MY life) and times. Why bother reading the New York Times or the Washington Post op-ed pages when you can just read this instead. OK, I can't equal Garrison Keillor, but the rest of those guys, they've got nothing on me, especially now that I'm reinvigorated and refreshed. Look out Thomas Freidman and Charles Krugman, and especially those arrogant, self-important ones, guys like Charles Krauthammer and George Will. Now that I'm back, like phoenix rising from the ashes, you, my friends, are toast.

Birther Blather

Will the real Republicans please stand up? Who are the real Republicans these days anyway? Certainly the Birthers number themselves as Republicans but many in the party are reluctant to claim them. And it's easy to understand why given that the Birthers claim that Obama was born in Kenya is supported by no evidence whatsoever.

It is satisfying at some level to see that the Republican ranks include at least some folks who appreciate how foolish one looks when they go public with something as outlandish as the Birthers do.

Maybe what happened in the 2000 election warped their brains permanently. Emboldened by Bush's success in being declared president after losing the general election and having his brother steal the critical Florida electoral vote, the Birthers must figure that every election is theirs for the taking. In their minds, I guess electoral success depends so little on actual voting and so much on gaming the system. Unless of course you are a Republican who actually won an election, in which case, no further inquiry is needed, a la 2004, in which the Democrats showed considerable discretion in not making a big fuss about the peculiar goings on in Ohio.

If the Birthers had any power, they would be truly dangerous. Oh, wait, some Birthers DO have power. Heaven help us.

Shame on mainstream media, Lou Dobbs comes to mind, for dignifying this non-story with coverage. Even the crazies at Fox thought better of it.

Consider how such controversies might be avoided in the future, from a Birther perspective. Apparently having a birth certificate coupled with a media announcement of a birth is insufficient to establish proof of birth in America. Better take away those Birther passports to safeguard against the possibiliy that they might be illegal immigrants.

I suggest that parents who aspire for their children to be future presidents arrange for live births to be videotaped, witnessed by at least two unbiased properly certified verifying witnesses and a lawyer or two.

What a great country this is. Between the Birthers and the screamers who like to disrupt community meetings so that we can't conduct public discussions about universal health care, it's clear that freedom still rings around here, but the problem is that the sound is generally inferior to that of silence.

Apple Changes Everything

Apples have always had a special appeal. Early on, it was the fruit. Going way back, in fact, wasn't Adam's inability to resist the apple closely related, in some obscure way, to his inability to refrain from dipping early humankinds ink into the well of Eve, or something like that? Shame on apples.

When The Beatles formed their record label, they called it Apple Records. Unfortunately, things didn't work out so well for the fledgling label. Turns out that in the record business, having the most popular band in the world is no substitute for having, well, I'm not sure what. Apple's A&R people signed James Taylor, for one, but they lacked the business acumen to make the enterprise profitable.

The Beatles spent plenty to make the Apple Store in London the coolest retail establishment on the planet, but that wasn't enough to keep things afloat, bottom line-wise. The Beatles were damn poor businessmen, and like most pop superstars, their financial fortunes were compromised by self-serving managers.

Despite insider exploitation, the swollen Beatles pie was sufficiently engorged to insure that everyone had enough to get by, and oddly, when Paul casually remarked to his friend Michael Jackson about the financial benefits of investing in publication rights and MJ took the advice, Paul was angered by Jackson's decision to act on his advice. Now, strangely, whoever prevails in the blood feud over Jackson's estate will own the publication royalties for most of the Lennon-McCartney musical library, an asset worth billions over time.

Now, back to Apple. Well, the record label has been dead for decades. But Steve Jobs' Apple grows stronger every year. And what started as a computer company now generates unbelievable profits from music.

Consider the strange journey of the apple. Among the fruit, vegetable, poultry and meat products on our planet, throw in the seafood, vegan and dessert food groups too, nobody can touch Apple. How weird is that?

As an Oregonian, I feel a special connection to apples. Some of the world's finest are grown in Oregon. And I feel a powerful connection to The Beatles, my favorite band of all time. And to Adam because, after all, who can't relate to his urgings to bite the apple, if you know what I mean. At the moment, I'm listening the Beatles Radio on iTunes, courtesy of Apple and I'm loving it.


Red on the outside. White on the inside. Full of sweet, juicy fruit. Beautiful to behold. Symbolic of so much of the best of our peculiar world, but like all superior things, partly flawed and in some ways perhaps more appealing because of it. Bless the apple.

Jo Feds Is Dead

It was a swingin' hot spot. For over twenty years, Jo Feds was a major part of the music scene in Eugene. Now it's doors are closed, another victim of our sputtering economy. Around here, folks mourn the passage of Jo Feds.

Sometimes musical venues close because they become passe, failing to change with the times. Jo Feds closure wasn't like that. Jo Feds had become venerable in a good way. Nationally, we are seeing an epidemic of restaurants and night clubs going dark. Bailout money isn't available for such folks, but maybe it should be.

I guess the problem is that night clubs don't pass the "too big to fail" test. We seldom stop to consider that the owners of musical venues are, in a way, curators of the arts. And when it's time to make cutbacks in personal spending, art is usually the first item on the chopping block, along with high-priced meals at fancy restaurants.

Such reductions in spending come at a steep cost to our communities. Beyond the unemployed waiters and cooks, as our palette of restaurants and clubs diminishes, local culture becomes increasingly bland. Collectively, we pay a higher price than we think when our nighttime entertainment choices disappear.

For me, personally, the closure of Jo Feds came one week before a Friday night gig I was scheduled to play there. Last year, another prominent Eugene night spot where I had performed many times, Luna Jazz Club, faded into history. I suppose I'm as guilty as the next guy of not doing enough to support such establishments. To lament the passage of musical venues which, after all, are businesses, while failing to adequately nurture them is to exalt sentimentality over pragmatism. Yet the loss of anything one cares about inevitably evokes an emotional response, so we are to be forgiven.

At the same time, there are lessons to be learned and they aren't hard to figure out. First, we should appreciate our favorite night spots more BEFORE they vanish from the scene. Second, our methods of appreciation should involve going there frequently and spending money, as much as we can afford. Jo Feds is dead, but not forgotten, and the best way to honor the memory of places we care about is to preserve the survivors.

One Hundred and Counting

Welcome to my 100th blog post. In accordance with journalistic tradition, I will exploit this moment with a brief retrospective in which I subtly congratulate myself for my oh so notable contributions to the blogosphere.

This blog was launched in October of 2007 with the modest ambition of providing those interested in my music with a means of learning more about the, uh hum, artist behind the music. I was advised to post something at least once a week and preferably at the same time each week. In this way, I was told, I would maximize my prospects for gaining a wider audience and thereby elevate my profile as a musician.

Pretty soon I found myself missing deadlines. Since I didn't have the budget to hire an editor to remind me, or threaten to fire me, I eventually became quite random in my posting activity. But that didn't stop me from making a genuine, earnest attempt to write about things that mattered to me and to write in a style which accurately reflects my inscrutable personality.

When I launched this blog, I had no idea where it would take me, and I'm not sure I cared. To be clear, I harbored no illusions that this blog would lead to anything. I was dubious about the advice I received that by blogging, new musical doors would open. And sure enough, I cannot say that this blog has led to anything tangible. But in the process of writing, I have found an outlet for my creative energy which I truly enjoy. OK, I'll admit that it's more thrilling to write songs I can record and perform than it is to write in this forum. But still, I cannot deny the sense that the body of work this blog represents means something to me. Strangely, and quite unexpectedly, this blog has become a sort of mirror I can hold up to myself.

If it means something to you too, then my satisfaction is multiplied exponentially. Over the course of these 100 posts, my greatest source of satisfaction is how the world has changed for the better with the replacement of an inept, dangerous president with Barack Obama. I also see that for me personally, my musical activities have subsided as the time demands of my green building projects have increased. While this saddens me somewhat, I find satisfaction in developing architecturally interesting, sustainable building projects which benefit neighborhoods and the community.

Music remains an important, vital part of my life. This month I am playing more shows than I have in months with several gigs around Oregon. I'm just completing a song entitled "Truth and Justice". In it, I elaborate on the nature of our judicial process based upon three decades of experience as a public defender. I have almost enough material for my third full length record and I'm in the early stages of planning trips to Europe, Australia and New Zealand which will include a series of performances. All of this brings me considerable satisfaction.

In short, I'm planning to stick around for a while. If you'll hang with me, I'll do my best to make it worth your while. Thanks to you all.

The Shifting Relevance of Blogs

When I started this blog in October of '07, the blogosphere was exploding. Along with social networking, blogs had become the next big thing. As I write this post, my ninety ninth, I can't help but wonder where things are heading.

Some say there are now too many blogs. Point taken. Like the fictional, laid-off career journalist with the Washington Post featured in Doonesberry, bloggers must face a discouraging reality. There is so much content out there, readership is hard to come by. Better get used to it.

Many bloggers use their blog as a means of keeping friends and family informed of their lives, right? Such diary blogs hold no interest, of course, to anyone unfamiliar with their creator.

Like unemployed actors working as waiters, unemployed journalists have taken to the blogosphere in droves. Where else can they ply their trade? The new media has no place for the traditional approach of slogging manuscripts around to publishers.

Luckily, as a person not dependent on the ability to turn written material into cash, I am not feeling the pressure. This probably explains why my contributions to this blog arrive randomly and unpredictably. Thanks for bearing with me. You ARE bearing with me, right?

My next blog post will mark a milestone for Americana Dan. Careful readers were tipped off in paragraph one of this post, oh, and the not too subtle 99th birthday cake photograph, to the upcoming momentous event. The new post will be number ONE HUNDRED!!! Getting into triple digits is, to me, a big deal. Sure, my late brother Steve, author of over 4000 (yes, four thousand) columns for the Chicago Sun Times and the Chicago Tribune would have no reason to be impressed, and probably you don't either. But hey, when I started this thing, I gave little thought to the possibility that I would remain committed to this undertaking for so long. I guess I must like the opportunity this forum presents for me to say whatever I want. Again, thank you all for checking in from time to time. I'll keep doing my best to make it worth your while.

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing"

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing"? What kind of headline is that? Well, there it was in this morning's newspaper---a headline implying that songwriters are a violent, murderous lot. Maybe the fact that I'm a songwriter heightens my sensitivity to this notion. Or could it be the songwriters are the new butlers, as in, "the butler did it!" Have songwriters become the default suspect of highest interest?

Imagine the police briefing. "Violent crime is on the rise. Round up the usual suspects. Yea, the songwriters. And don't forget the poets. We've got to rid the city of that scum. Nobody's safe with them around."

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing". Awfully suspicious that a songwriter was anywhere near Harvard. I mean songwriters aren't exactly known for having Ivy League educations.

Of course the songwriter denies it. Everybody accused of murder denies it. You want a more shocking headline? How about "Songwriter Admits Harvard Killing"? Songwriters might not be that well educated, but they're smart enough to follow their lawyers advice, even if they killed someone in the proverbial broad daylight in front of a busload of vigilant nuns

Got a cold case, a la Miami: CSI? I suggest you check the entertainment listings, see who had a gig in town that night. Remember the Talking Heads song "Psycho Killer"? Maybe David Byrne's lyrics are a window into the schizophrenic mind of your average songwriter.

Sure, songwriters look all innocent with their artsy clothes and gentle manner, especially the folkies. Nothing like a good disguise to lead the authorities off-track. Beware the songwriter. You never know what unspeakable acts of random violence were performed by the innocuous looking dude with the acoustic guitar.

The Days of Swine and Roses

Be afraid. Or not. It might kill you, but it probably won't, even if you catch it. Swine flu is upon us and I'm so uncertain what to think of it. So many news items play to our fears. After all, fear sells. But most of the time, our fears are unrealized, thank goodness.

Not long ago, the word "pandemic" was not part of my vocabulary. Now, it seems that next to WMD's (an acronym known only to a few before 9/11), pandemics are the biggest threat to mankind. So be afraid people.

How best to prepare for the swine pandemic? I'm surprised that fallout shelters aren't making a comeback. Because when the Big Pandemic hits, isolation is surely the key to your survival. Stock up on water and duct tape. Lots of duct tape. Because if you're in your fallout shelter and your companion blathers all the time, duct tape might save you from insanity.

While we're on the topic of things that might kill us, did you know that from time to time, the sun goes a little whacky? In 1859, a solar storm from our very own sun caused telegraph wires in the US and Europe to stop working. Somehow, this caused a number of fires.

Scientists now predict that in 2012, we may experience a similar solar storm but the results, they say, are certain to be catastrophic. Our satellite systems will stop functioning which, in turn, will disrupt global transportation and communication. Our world will be less safe, and you guessed it, lots of people will die.

So many things that can lead to the end of the world as we know it. I just love the REM song about that. Michael Stipe singings "It's the end of the world, as we know it, and I feel fine". Especially when the sun is shining and its beautiful outside, like it is right now in Oregon. Incidentally, ever notice how you feel a lot more safe and secure the less time you spend listening to Fox News?

Fear makes me sad. What has fear ever done for you? Mostly, fear succeeds in making people more aware that life offers too little hope and too much misery. This is one of mankind's biggest shortcomings compared to the animal world. Animals have keen fear instincts that kick in when it really matters. I loved learning that before tsunamis hit shore, the birds are long gone. They don't waste brainpower worrying about lethal forces that will almost certainly never strike. How unfortunate that human brains are so morosely preoccupied with far fetched impending death scenarios, yet so incapable of sensing mortal threats right before them.

Hope you don't catch the swine flu, but if you do, I'm telling you your prospects for survival are good. Very good.

James McMurtrey

Last night, James McMurtrey was in town. I hadn't seen him since the 90's and whenever I hear his stuff on the radio, I take notice. With a flat, deadpan delivery reminiscent of Lou Reed, McMurtrey grabs your attention with his highly literate, powerfully descriptive lyrics. Who else does that?

Sure, there are plenty of great lyricists, starting with Bob Dylan, of course. My short list would include John Hiatt, Paul Simon, Jackson Browne on a good day and for me, the newest member of this elite club is John Mayer who seems to have it all. But none of them can touch McMurtrey's unique take on life in America today.

James McMurtrey is the consummate American storyteller, a modern day Mark Twain. Part poetry, part satire, all heart. If he wrote regular weekly columns, I would read every word. But he doesn't, and perhaps that's good because it forces him to distill 100% of his creative genius into the lyrics of comparatively few songs.

When I saw McMurtrey in the 90's, he was just getting started. He played serviceable guitar, plenty adequate to support his tunes. Last night, he was a guitar powerhouse. At times, he sounded like Neil Young AND Crazyhorse. Accompanied by a bassist and a drummer, the threesome generated a quality of rock you seldom find with so few players. This was the Austin sound at its finest.

Makes me want to spend a lot more time there. Every Wednesday night, when he's not on tour, McMurtrey plays The Continental Club in Austin. Seeing him at The Continental would be enough to justify the trip. If James comes to your hometown or someplace nearby, do not miss the chance to see him. And if you aren't familiar with his stuff, check him out.

Cigars and Mojitos: It's Cuba Time

For Cuba, change is arriving. The blockade is still in place, at least for now, but thanks to President Obama, US relations with Cuba are finally starting to thaw. Upon hearing news of the announcement, it took Raul Castro about 90 minutes to call Obama to express his gratitude and to suggest that they talk.

It's about time. Cuba stopped being a threat to the US decades ago. A succession of US presidents from both parties insisted on preserving the outdated status quo. Although the embargo lives in, it is clearly living on borrowed time.

What does this mean for America? Not much. We'll soon have legal access to Cuban cigars, something which means very little to me. And chances are that the rosters of major league baseball teams will start to include more Cuban players.

Mostly, this is huge news in Cuba. Once the embargo is lifted, Cuba's economic opportunities will rise. This is good and necessary for the long-suffering Cuban people. Their initial enthusiasm over Castro and the Revolution steadily eroded as they realized that the promises of Communism were mostly empty.

As noted in an earlier blog, Cubans have perhaps the most musical culture on the planet. Their rhythms and energy exude joy and a sense of community not found elsewhere. They move, dance and sing with a unique feeling. As more folks get exposure to Cuban music, and for that matter, other Cuban art forms, the world will appreciate what Cuba has to offer.

And isn't it interesting that Barack Obama is on good speaking terms with Hugo Chavez? Spring is here and I can't help but enjoy that fresh scent in the air, one I always associate with the promise of bright, new beginnings.

Maria and Me

We weren't close, that's for sure. Maria Mutola was the greatest female 800 meter runner of all time. When she moved from Mozambique to Eugene, Oregon (ok, it was Springfield, to be precise) at the age of 16, she was already famous in certain quarters. The reason for her teenage fame? Running. She went to the 1988 Olympics in the 800m run at the age of 15 representing Mozambique.

It was common enough in gymnastics for girls of that age to make the Olympics, but not in track and field. Even though her performance in the Seoul Olympics was remarkable only for her age, she was destined for greatness and everybody knew it.

A strange quirk of fate caused her to move to Eugene in 1990 where she attended Springfield High School whose track coach, Margo Jennings, was a friend. Soon Margo made the wise choice to have Maria work out with older, male runners with experience on the international circuit. Maria's talents were too much for her high school teammates. Margo turned to my running partner, Ed Spinney, a sub-four minute miler who had competed in Europe before becoming an attorney in Eugene. Ed worked in my office for almost a decade and I had the chance to run with Ed Spinney on a few thousand occasions. Although as a runner I was more enthusiastic than talented, in the process of running with Ed, I became a lot tougher and faster, but never nearly as fast as Ed.

This happenstance permitted me to meet Maria and train with her on occasion. There's something about running together for miles that breaks down barriers, and over time, I got to know her in spite of her shyness. I had no chance to keep up with her in shorter distances, but on longer training runs, I held my own.

In the years that followed, she won Olympic medals, including the gold medal in the 2000 Sydney Olympics. She won many world championships. She was the top-ranked 800 meter runner in the world for the better part of her 16 year career, and when she finally decided to retire from competitive running last summer, her accomplishments were so far beyond those of every other 800 meter runner in history that no rationale person could debate the issue.

Several times in the height of her career I had the chance to enjoy casual evenings with her and a few others over dinner at the home of her sometime trainer, Jack Scott. Although at that point, she was financially secure and internationally famous in track, her sense of self had not become inflated.

Maria's physique set her apart from others, with shoulders remarkably broad and rippling with muscle. Running foes tried to diminish her accomplishments by hinting at steroid use, pointing to her musculature as proof. They hadn't seen what I had---she was built that way at age 16, long before she would have had access to performance enhancing drugs.

The longevity of her career and the steadiness of her performances on the track were unparalleled. She ran every race as though arriving at the finish line first was her purpose for living. Such competitiveness, such passion for victory, is rare because the price one must pay in terms of physical suffering is considerable. Most people cannot will themselves to go there ever, and those who manage to summon the ultimate effort on occasion cannot achieve such effort with the consistency, the single-mindedness of purpose, that became Maria's trademark.

In high school, attempts to prevent her from competing at the high school level were made, successfully, and the memory of this and other scornful acts directed at this gifted child from Africa sickens me still. No doubt, such early encounters with people who tried to marginalize her helps to account for both her shyness and her tenacity.

I don't know what retirement holds for Maria, but I suspect she will give as much back to the people of Mozambique as possible. She is a hero there, Mozambique's only international sporting celebrity, and Maria is not one to ignore her roots, which explains why she moved from her comfortable existence in my community back to Africa. I consider myself quite fortunate to have met someone as remarkable as Maria Mutola. Thank you, Maria, for the memories of watching you in competition, and for the opportunity to know the equally splendid person behind the championship performances.

Paper or Plastic: The Newspaper Crisis

I prefer paper when it comes to news. Most folks under thirty choose internet news. Who can blame them? First and foremost, it's free. It reduces paper usage big time and is therefore green. And news hits online before coming out in print, so online junkies are often the first to receive breaking news.

Newspaper are going broke. The business model of newspaper is dying a quick, merciless death. Advertising revenue is down. Readership is down. Newspaper efforts to generate revenue online have failed.

I lament the loss of newspapers because the quality of American journalism is high. Once papers are gone, we won't find a substitute news source with anywhere near the professionalism of the print media. Voices like Limbaugh's will gain even greater traction and this is the last thing our democracy needs.

Television can't fill the void, and online news sources fall far short of the content available through the press. Where does that leave us? Nowhere good. Collectively, we will be rely on less data, and worse data, in forming opinions about important matters of public policy.

We will be too easily fooled and that's the real problem.

Too bad we've gotten so accustomed to expecting everything for free on the internet. Despite its many blessings, constant online access has its downsides and the suffocation of the newspaper industry heads the list.

How to stem this tide? Congress is considering legislation which would allow newspapers to become non-profit corporations and thereby receive more favorable tax treatment. The reduction of their taxes may allow them to remain afloat but that step would come at a large cost: non-profits are not allowed to make recommendations about elections. So much for freedom of the press.

Without a major change in consumer spending patterns, newspapers are done. I can't help but wonder, though, why newspapers are less deserving of Congressional bailouts than, say, AIG or GM or Bank of America. So write your congressman today and recommend that the newspapers get some of that bailout money. Save the fourth estate. The quality of our democracy depends on it.

Blogger's Block or What?

Blogger's block, the e-equivalent of writer's block, seems to have struck me. Thinking I had at least created a clever new phrase, I checked online and was disappointed to see that the term "blogger's block" is far from original. Sigh.

It's easy to find reasons to avoid writing a new blog post. Let's see, there's my day job, my music activities, the economy, chores around the house, social engagements, stuff I need to read, a movie I want to watch, a workout that's long overdue, family members I haven't called in a while, our dog Petey wants and deserves my attention, ditto times 100 for my lovely, patient wife, a car that needs washing, and so on. In short, plenty of other things interfere with my commitment to Americana Dan.

When I started this blog, I was a reliable weekly blogger. I've become spotty. Could be it's time for a renewal of my blogging vows. But I hate to make a promise I won't keep.

Maybe I could use some blog counseling. Or try to get Americana Dan to agree that we should start seeing other people. Or something like that.

After giving it some thought, I've decided that all I need is a minor attitude adjustment. No sense feeling guilty if I don't post anything for a week or two, right? Why shouldn't I feel ok about posting when the urge strikes but not otherwise? If anybody out there thinks this is a bad idea, please let me know. I'm reaching out to you, my beloved readers, with an open mind, actively soliciting your input. More than anything, I don't want to let you down. I've got a feeling I won't, and trusting that if I do, you will let me know.

The Perils of Bowling

Did you know that bowling can kill you? Bowling fatalities are rare but they do happen. Just last week I read a media report about an unfortunate bowling alley employee who died in the mechanical apparatus behind the pins.

Bowling mishaps of lesser severity are easily imagined. "Ouch, dropped the bowl on my toe!" "Whoops, smashed my fingers while retrieving my ball!" Things like that must happen all the time.

But fatalities? It turns out that the machinery behind the well-illuminated ivory ten-pins is a throwback to the industrial revolutions origins. Think meat-packing in Chicago in 1873 or George Orwell's "Animal Farm". Whatever you do, don't let your children grow up to be pin-setters!

Ever heard of extreme bowling? Take an ordinary bowling alley. Then turn down the lights, turn up the music and bowl the night away. Turns out that bowling fatalities multiply exponentially in the world of extreme bowling. Look it up.

I remember my grandfather and his fellow bowlers. They appreciated a night out with the boys, downing beers and rolling those beautiful, shiny balls down the laminated hardwood lanes like figure skaters on ice.

Turns out that idyllic fantasy blinded us all to the mayhem behind the lanes---bowling alley personnel carnage. Where oh where is OSHA. That's right, the Occupational Safety and Health Act and all those government employees whose responsibility it is to make the American workplace immune from injury and death?

Did you know there's a one-lane bowling alley in the White House? Former President Richard Nixon had it installed. Not at government expense. Oh no, it was paid for by Tricky Dick's friends who appreciated that government should not fund the frivolous leisure activities of government employees, not even the president. If only Nixon's moral compass has remained true to the ethic of privately funded bowling.

Subsequent presidents have made little use of Nixon's alley but W did. Some consider it unfortunate that Dick Cheney didn't take a stab at studying the internal mechanics of pin-setting.

Thank goodness ESPN doesn't pay much attention to bowling. Something about the "athletes" just doesn't measure up to the guys in the NFL or the NBA. Ever watched "Kingpen"? Now there's a bowling story worth seeing. My advice: If you should decide to take up bowling, whatever you do, don't pull a Munson.

Oregon's 150th Birthday: February 14, 2009

Oregon just turned 150. Easterners shrug, especially those from the original 13 colonies. To them, Oregon is more like a distant cousin than a ruggedly handsome, more athletic younger brother. For any true Oregonian, our beloved state's 150th birthday is a big deal.

Oregonians, though, aren't the type to draw attention to themselves. So February 14, 2009 arrived mostly in a St. Valentine mood, even for Oregonians, few of whom seem acquainted with the bloated word "Sesquicentennial".

My first knowledge of sesquicentennials came in Texas. Folks from The Lone Star State are famously disinclined toward humility, an unfortunate fact from a Northwest perspective. Texans seemed determined to have their state's 150th birthday rank second only to "Remember the Alamo" on the top 10 list of Things Memorable About Texas.

Oregon's 150th was notable mainly for recognizing the role of Native Americans in the history of our state, complete with high ranking politicians offering them apologies and genuflections to assuage the social injustices of the mid-19th century. Of course, the Indian tribes of Oregon are now exceptionally well-funded, thanks to casinos, so they've got that going for them. And nobody suggested out loud that the political homage to them might somehow be related to their newfound prosperity. Oregonians are too polite for that.

The truth is, I love this state. As a native Oregonian, I'm in the minority. My ancestors came out west in covered wagons on the Oregon Trail in the 1840's, which makes me as Oregonian as a person can get. I've been fortunate to see much of the world, and I can't image living anywhere else. Our quality of life cannot be surpassed. Sure, the rainy winters can be dreary, but the turning of seasons builds character and helps measure the passage of time. That's what I tell myself. And my sun-loving wife, a native Oregonian herself, who benefits from the occasional reminder of this fact.

So Happy 150th Birthday Oregon! We know our slice of paradise is an acquired taste for some. We like the fact that Oregon is relatively undiscovered, like the undetected beauty of the girl in the back row with dorky sunglasses and her hair in pigtails. We prefer it that way.

The Danville Mystery

Bet you didn't know the name "Dan" is special. I didn't either. And if any of the roughly 237 Dan's I've met over the course of my life knew it was special, they didn't say so. Which is a mystery unto itself. But that's not the mystery I'm blogging about today.

Ever heard of Danville? Nearly everyone can recall, at least when reminded, the memorable opening line of the song "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" by The Band, and later covered by Joan Baez (factoid: this song was the biggest hit of her career):

"Virgil Cain is my name and I drove on the Danville train...."

This was a song about the Civil War and at one time the Virginia town Danville was the headquarters of the Confederacy. The primary north-south train in the eastern United States ran through Danville. But why, I wondered, was the town Danville so named? Well, I learned, because it rests on the banks of the Dan River. OK, then why was the river named Dan? Nobody seems to know for sure.

Turns out that there many states that have Danvilles. They are located in Pennsylvania, Illinois, Kentucky, California, Georgia and for all I know there may be more of them.

Why are all these communities named after "Dan"? That's the mystery. I challenge anyone to find a good answer. I don't think you will.

Now consider this. How many other communities are named after a male's first name? You won't find any Billvilles, Jeffvilles, Bobvilles, Johnvilles, Stevevilles......I could go on but you get the point. Could it be that the name Dan is the subject of a well-guarded secret, like the Masonic rites or the silly bullshit in that Nicolas Cage movie The National Book of Treasures (here's another mystery---why do they make a sequel out of such a lame movie?).

When traveling in Israel last year, I was shocked to learn that Dan is big stuff in the Holy Land. Imagine my surprise when I found that my travel agent booked me into the Dan Hotel in Tel Aviv. It turned out that there's a whole chain of Dan Hotels there. Why? Because the Tribe of Dan was one of the original twelve tribes of the Holy Land. There you go. No mysteries in Israel about the reasons for the prominence of Dan.

But I find no evidence that the mysterious appearance of so many Danville's in the USA is even remotely related to the Tribe of Dan.

All great mysteries have spellbinding endings which neatly resolve the seemingly disconnected threads of the story in an unexpected, intellectually satisfying way. So it should be with The Danville Mystery. Maybe someday I'll write it if I can make any sense of it. For now, I've gotta say, I'm stumped. I guess I'll simply accept my mother's explanation. "Dan's are just plain special."

What's Next?

All the build up. All the preparation. The result? Whew, wipe my brow and exhale deeply: This was very fulfilling, the culmination of all my efforts, a performance to meet or, dare I say it, exceed, my high expectations. I'm talking about last Saturday's performance at The Shedd in Eugene.
Thanks a bundle to all of you who showed up and made it a magical night. At the top of this list, I include my musical comrades: Brent and Gary from LA; Greg from Portland and Stan, Matt and Pete from Eugene.
Several earlier blog posts focused on this gig and how performances in your home town acquire a unique sort of importance. The thing is, when you're performing for friends and family, plus fans from your hometown, along with many people who've never seen you but have heard that it's worth their time, trouble and the price of admission, you want to give them all you've got. You want to be the best performer you can be. You want to deliver in a way that will be remembered.
More than that, you want to achieve the ultimate musical trifecta: flawless performance, soulful delivery, memorable night. Did I do this? Well.....ok, flawlessness was a goal not quite achieved, but the performance was pretty darn solid, if I do say so myself. And soulfulness was there, no doubt about it. As for memorability, I really think....based on what I'm hearing from those who were there...that this was achieved.
The end result? I am relieved, fulfilled, content, satisfied and ultimately quite honored that things worked out so well. And, oh yeah, grateful to those who came and supported me and my band. Extremely grateful. I say again, as I said many times on Saturday night, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

Home Town Gig

I'm so ready for Saturday night. Sure, it's only Wednesday but Saturday can't come soon enough for me. The fact is, I've been ready for a while now. Oh yeah, there's still is plenty of prep work necessary to make Saturday night the impeccable musical performance I envision. Because that will be a collaborative effort and a major part of the collaboration hasn't exactly happened yet.

So here's the deal. On Saturday, January 31 at 7:30, the curtain rises for my show at The Shedd Performing Arts Institute. And in Eugene, Oregon, that's a big deal. Lots of print advertising featuring my picture, extra airplay on local radio, fancy oversized photographic full-color mailings about my show to several thousand local households and a palpable buzz in our community.

So what's the problem? Nothing really. Except that the 7 musicians that will back me up have never played with one another. Never even met. That will happen on Friday night.

I've played with clusters of them. For example, my two old friends who are LA musicians, Gary and Brent. We played together incessantly growing up in Salem, Oregon, and we've played together a number of times when I've visited LA. These guys have performed with dozens of acts that have achieved worldwide fame. Then there are the local guys, Matt and Pete, both consummate professionals who can and have cut the mustard with numerous other musicians, including Chuck Berry, Andy Summers and many more. And then there's Greg from Portland and Stan from Atlanta, terrific musicians with impressive musical resumes.

The thing is, our first opportunity to play my songs together arrives on Friday night. Then the show is on Saturday. Am I worried? No. Why not? Because they have learned my tunes and they are pros.

I'm excited. I know my audience will include dozens of friends and family members. And it will include many members of my home town who haven't heard me yet. If I merely avoid the indignity of disappointing them, my personal level of satisfaction will be low. Is it wrong to hope for more? I don't think so. When performing my songs, I put my entire being on the line. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm so ready for Saturday night.

Inauguration Day

January 20, 2009---a date many will remember forever. Any why not? How many of us can remember other presidential inaugurations? A show of hands please? Uh huh, just a few political die-hards and the odd Reagen devotee.
So much excitement shared by so many. And not just in the USA. This inauguration ignited a worldwide celebration and a renewal of the perception that the United States actually deserves its lofty status as the leader of the free world.
Once again, for the first time this millenium, our nation is suddenly respected and admired as a place where people of humble origins can achieve the nation's highest office, including for the first time, people of color.
For most, the lasting images of the day will be those of Barack, Michelle and their adorable daughters. But for some, the most pleasurable image was the sight of W boarding the presidential helicopter and leaving Washington DC for good. Like an uninvited guest who outlived his welcome by 6 years, W's departure came far too late. Some are fond of saying "all good things must come to an end", but so it is too for bad things. And the Bush presidency was bad beyond belief, leaving a legacy of debt and bad will that may take generations to erase.
Could the juxtaposed images of January 20th be more starkly different? Out with the old president, a semi-articulate C student/frat boy (no offense to frat boys) mostly concerned with enriching his buddies and running government like a third rate church. In with the new president, a guy fairly described as brilliant, handsome and incredibly cool, committed to converting our government into a well-functioning organization in a fast changing world and restoring America's reputation as a beacon of democracy.
I've never been so proud to be an American.

Home: You Can't Get There From Here

I didn't want to come to Sacramento. Now I can't leave. I want out. Now. Instead, I'm having a "Groundhog's Day"-Bill Murray experience. No, it's more like Tom Hanks in "The Terminal".
I am aware that fellow travelers have been stuck for days in places like Chicago and Portland. My current predicament is not caused by snow. It's fog. Fog in San Francisco.
You can drive from Sacramento to Eugene in 6 hours on a good day. But this is not a good day. Neither was yesterday. Now I'm pretty worried about tomorrow.
It is January 6. Why is this airport still plastered with "Happy Holidays" signs. Is the fog in San Francisco preventing airport personnel in Sacramento from taking them down? Or do they want us to reflect upon a happy moment in our past? Gosh, the holidays seemed like events that occurred a long, long time ago.
It's 2009 and we are prisoners. True, I have my guitar, which helps. And my laptop. Even free internet which is rare in airports these days. But I want to be home. Today please.